


Life and Times According to Griff P Vao

by Plutospawn



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-20
Updated: 2007-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-27 01:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12570284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutospawn/pseuds/Plutospawn
Summary: How did Griff and Mission end up on Taris? Here's one explanation.





	1. A Beginning

Luck has always been this sort of mercurial thing. A fickle little slut you talk softly to while she steals your wallet. It's alright; the only thing in my wallet is six credits and maybe an expired condom if I remember correctly.

That's just how it's been, how it is. Not the part about the expired condom, that's just another recent development attributed to luck. Lack of luck, rather. Or lack of getting lucky. Whatever, it'll happen when it happens, I'm used to that sort of thing.

I'm used to a lot of things as it turns out. Having money, not having money and let's face it, money is directly related to your spot on the food chain so to speak. Dad and I came into enough of it in my teens, enough for him to acquire Koyi.

Now Koyi, she was something else. That's one way to put it. Something else. A longtime dancer, so her feet looked like hell, but man, every curve you thought you saw was actually a well-trained muscle and a body was just curious as to what her body was capable of. It didn't hurt that she had that really pale pink Lethan skin that flushed all the way to the tips of her lekku if she exerted herself, either.

Now, I know Dad and there's no way that was love. Not like it was with him and my mom. You could just look at those two and tell it was love right up until he sold her to that Hutt so that we could get off planet. No, Koyi was just a nice trophy. Dad was fracking old by that point and it was almost insulting that my new mother was two, maybe three years older than me. Or would have been insulting had she paid me less attention than the old man.

It wasn't like we planned anything out from the beginning. That would have been wrong and I really hate feeling dirty. And hey, Dad must've liked her enough in his own right. Or enough to knock her up at any rate.

The kid was a bit of a surprise. Not the fact of an eighteen or nineteen year old babe having a babe, that's pretty common or even that some old jart who was more than sixty could hump the crap out of a young piece like that. I just didn't think the old man had it in him. And the thought of old, saggy, wrinkly balls was just... I'm cringing here.

But yeah, Koyi had a kid. Girl, so thank frack she looked like her mom. I love my dad and all, but let's face it, the guy did not get by on his face alone. Granted, I think his nose was twisted like that from having it broken one too many times, but there's no excuse for the brow ridges he had.

Given her parentage, we had all been expecting the kid to be purple. But genetics are a weird thing, I guess, because she came out blue, just like her dad, just like her big brother. She'd get a nice flush that started out purple and moved its way to pink if she got to screaming and crying for a while, though.

I forget what they called the kid. Well, what her legal name was, anyway. Probably something that looked expensive when written down. They started calling her Mission after a time, some kind of secret joke between Koyi and my father. I have no idea what it was about and really had no intention of finding out because I'm pretty sure if I ever figured out the specifics it would make me sick to my stomach. The name Mission seemed to suit the kid, my little sister, almost prophetic. You know she was part of that whole Star Forge mission with fracking Revan and Jedi and a Republic Admiral? A story for another time, maybe.

I'm not even sure why they thought to have her in the first place, to be perfectly honest. Maybe the old man wanted to prove that he still had it in him, maybe Koyi thought that would cement whatever she thought their relationship was. Maybe somebody accidentally switched out her birth control for mints and then a few months later whoops the strip turned pink, how the hell should I know? I just know the initial offer from a nearby Hutt when Mission was born was 2300 creds. Koyi had a fit. Kid had to have at least been worth 2600.

No dice. I think when a dame gives birth she's flooded with ridiculous amounts of hormones that makes her insane and want to put this crapping, screeching, helpless thing with huge eyes before even her own self-interest and survival. Real freaky to witness. As a joke I told her that some animals eat their young, that was a huge mistake. Koyi copped an attitude, insulted my heritage and everything. All that from a former dancer? I mean, don't get me wrong, she was a good dancer, but really.

She got over it. What else was she supposed to do? Spend all her waking hours with an infant that only wanted to suck on her boobs or spend all her waking hours with a dirty old man that only wanted to suck on her boobs?

Well, sure, she had a nice rack. And there are far worse pastimes in this universe than sucking on a boob or two. But it's not like I went in there with the intention of getting a mouthful. She was my mother! Well, step-mother, technically. Literally. No blood relation. We can't forget that or things will get weird.

I'm just a nice guy, alright? Friendly. Friendly people do exist. Granted, it might be a smart idea to check for your wallet or stop drinking what they poured for you if they get too friendly, but there's nothing wrong with a little friendliness every now and again.

So I'd see her during the afternoon. The baby was usually napping then, so there'd be an hour or so to hang. Tell her about some stupid shit that happened the night before in the clubs, maybe. Sometimes it was just easier to sit back and let her talk. About the baby, how she'd never realized that kids were born with such stubby little lekku, how she wished she knew what the kid was thinking when it cried, how she hoped the kid was weaned before it started teething. You'd be surprised how attentive people think you are when you pick a spot on the wall to stare at and nod your head.

I'd always give her a hug before I shoved off, just to be polite. She seemed lonely and it was the least I could do. Now the flowers, I can't quite remember exactly what I was thinking when I started having those delivered, but I'm sure it was with nothing but purely platonic intentions. How it went from something as innocent as that to fracking on the floor, well, I couldn't tell you. The rug burns were awkward to explain away, but worth it.

Well, maybe I spoke too soon. It probably wasn't entirely worth it. I mean, yeah, Koyi was, well if you've ever seen a holo of her you'd know what I was talking about. But the sneaking around was a pain in the ass. Yeah, sure Dad probably wouldn't have cared, but it was still his wife. It gets kind of inky when your son's exchanging fluids with his mom. Step-mom.

It's probably not the kind of thing you'd want to put on a resume.

Oh man, how long did that go on for? Things probably started to get, we'll call it "inappropriate," between me an Koyi when the baby was maybe eight months standard. Something like that. I think we had six months or so of lewd conduct before the old man caught on. That was not a fun day at all.

You ever have your face thrown into a mirror? Yeah, I'd not like to duplicate that particular sensation anytime soon. Dad kept screaming something about, "Look at yourself!" and I really wanted to tell him that it was kind of hard to see the whole picture when your nose was smashed against reflective transparisteel. But I knew enough to keep quiet by that time. You always tell yourself that elderly people deteriorate and their swings get weaker with time. But they also have more experience and know by that time what the most effective areas to hit are. Everything left a nice smear of nostrils and blood across the mirror before he was finished. And then it was time to talk.

So I told him the truth. I had absolutely no idea how any of it happened. I mean, sure, the mechanics involved, yes, I did know a thing or two, but I don't think he was interested in that part. All I'd ever wanted was to be a good kid and good kids did what they were told. If Koyi, Mom, Step-Mom, told me to do something, I'd bend over backwards for her, just because I wanted nothing but happiness for her and Dad.

Unfortunately when she asked me to do things, it usually involved me dropping my pants. What can I say, everyone's got a talent.

Dad said he'd take care of it and he did. When I crawled in through a window a couple days later, Dad was there cradling Mission in his arms. Koyi was nowhere. There'd been an extended period of haggling, but in the end he could only get 3500 from the Hutts for Koyi. She had been worth more, but there was the C-section scar to consider and you've got to admit with a kid chomping on your cleavage for so long, some things go downhill.

It had been a mistake to sneak in through the window. All it got me was backhanded. Dad made it very clear who would be the next one sold if I fracked around again. Then I had to apologize for making the baby cry.

I did try to see Koyi once after all that. Another mistake. All I wanted to do was tell her that things were going to be fine, after all, I'd be looking after my kid sister so nothing bad would happen to her. For all my troubles, I got a stiletto heel to the jewels and was thrown out of the place with a promise of what horrible atrocities would be visited upon my person if I was to ever return.

So no more Koyi. It was back to the clubs for me, where I'd let my hands wander for stray wallets and pockets while I pretended to play cards. If I really needed a piece, there were always brothels or flop houses. What was Dad's was his and what was mine was whatever I could get. It was a good lesson to learn. Don't touch Dad's toys or we'll all get sold to Hutts and really, I can't approve of the sale of sentient beings. Especially when the sentient being in question is me.

Of course, then the old man keeled over and everything went to hell.


	2. Coruscant

What can I say? He was my dad. He wasn't the best dad ever, but he was my dad. So it kind of sucked, but it was also just kind of weird, him not being around. Sometimes, even now, I feel like I'm going to turn around and he'll be there to kick my ass for something I did wrong.

We were given time for a funeral before all the loan sharks and area powers came in to start making demands and threats. Of course, I don't think I was ever really cut out for that kind of lifestyle, so I didn't stick to protocol. I scraped together as much money as I could find, hocked some of the old man's stuff, then took a one way trip off planet with the kid maybe five hours before the funeral was scheduled.

It felt like Mission cried the entire way to Coruscant, but I like to think the old man would've understood.

I stand behind that decision. There's not many crime bosses that can extend their power beyond a single planet and even fewer that would be loony enough to waste the resources it would take to track down a single hack of a Twi'lek and his baby sister. Not to say that I've never been caught in nasty situations, mind you, just that it tends to be because of my own sloppiness rather than any thoroughness of whatever mob or syndicate that's around at the moment. I've found that if you have to take or borrow from any of those groups, a good rule of thumb is to only take what you absolutely need, because if you have to inevitably skip town, a handful of credits is easier to overlook than say that numb nuts that thought he was slick enough to rip off Zordo the Hutt of his entire fortune and spend it all at the local cantina buying drinks for everyone.

That doesn't mean I've never been up to my neck or beyond in debt, that seems to be my default, actually. But you borrow from that sweet hearted dame that still cries when she hears that one story about the puppy with the horrible, debilitating condition (it varies planet to planet, but there's always a puppy and there's always a disease and there's always tears,) or you borrow from that thickheaded guy who wants to be a hero so bad he'll hand out credits before thinking to ask if the reason you're out of money is because life's handed you a bad hand or if it's because you pissed it all away on glitterstim. You start borrowing from local crime syndicates, you might as well start chewing on a thermal detonator because it does the same thing to your life expectancy.

I still miss Coruscant. For as much as it could smell down in those sewers, there was always something going on. Shows, races, fights, anything and everything a person could think up, it was there. Hell, I don't think I ever managed to climb past level thirty while I was there, so it always makes me wonder what I didn't see on that planet.

It was easy enough to find work. Picture it: a lanky young guy on the run looking out the best he could for a hungry toddler. Mission was pulling tricks back then and didn't even realize it. All I needed to do was bring her with me, let her flash those big brown eyes of hers and I'm telling you, if the sent had a heart, it melted.

There was this line cook, Lal, who thought of himself as this universal father figure. He'd always belt his pants too tight so his enormous gut would roll over the waist of his pants so much it made me wonder the last time Lal had seen his feet. Anyway, he got me a job as a dishwasher for this greasy dive and all the waitresses would spend their breaks fawning over Mission, so I inadvertently got some free babysitting on top of it all.

The big problem with being a dishwasher, was that it came with a dishwasher's wage. I don't know about you, but me, I've got expensive taste. It's part of being a classy gentleman. You can't really attract a worthwhile woman with a stained t-shirt and holey pants. No offense to Lal or anything, but his woman looked part Hutt.

So I had to get myself into trouble again. I wish I could say that I did it all by myself, but really it was more of a being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

I had just gotten off from work and headed over to the cantina next door for a quick drink while Mission was still being entertained by this one waitress, Minnie. I didn't mean for anything to happen, wasn't looking for anything. All I wanted was some Corellian spiced ale. I'm beginning to think a lot of stories start that way.

She was hot and that should have been my first tip off. I mean, come on, look at me. As much as I hate to admit it, there are finer Twi'leks roaming the galaxy than me. But I was young and cocky and she was amazingly hot. Super, fiery hot.

Human, too. It was a food chain thing again; the whole why buy a hot Twi'lek lady when you can get a hot human chick for free. You'll notice I stick to other Twi'leks anymore; I like to think I've learned my lesson.

Rina was too inviting. It was almost like she had expected me before I had even entered the cantina. She liked that I didn't know all the rules and I was too busy staring at her cleavage to pick up on the fact that I had just been turned into a mark.

I can't really blame her for what she did. She was in a bit of trouble and an easy way to pull yourself out of some trouble is to simultaneously throw somebody else into it.

We were going to take over the entire Blue Sector in level eighteen. According to Rina, anyway. All we needed to do was pool our credits together to get resources.

In all honesty, I can't even tell you what was so great about the Blue Sector anymore. Anytime I tried to find that out or point out that maybe what she was doing wasn't exactly well thought out, she'd sulk. Sulk and invariably would strip down to nothing in front of me so that she could, "think things over" in the tub.

Now, I can relate to a good think and soak, but let's be realistic and agree that there was absolutely no thinking happening in that particular tub.

Really, I think there were no plans for the Blue Sector at all. I think all Rina wanted was enough credits to get off planet. She seemed to have a knack for trouble and maybe that's what attracted me in the first place, because if Griff P. Vao isn't escaping off planet somewhere, it's probably only because he lacks the credits to do so.

She didn't get her credits in time. Whatever powers that be, thought that it was convenient that she had an idiot Twi'lek of a boyfriend that could stumble across her corpse so there was an easy suspect to cover up for their weak alibi. So much for Coruscant.

Lal understood. Hell, the fat idiot even forced me to take credits I knew he didn't have. Little things like that make me miss him. Of course, it wasn't like Lal was swimming in credits, so I still needed more. Here's the part where I'm a completely worthless piece of dresh.

Remember what I just said about involving yourself with crime syndicates? Yeah, well, here's why.

I involved myself in a card game of a particularly dubious nature, but I had nothing to offer in the event that I actually lost. But I don't lose at cards, right? I'd never offer up anything that I couldn't afford to lose if I really stood any sort of chance at losing.

They wanted Mission as collateral. And I said sure.

It made sense at the time. And I still stand by my previous statement. I don't lose at cards. I don't. But anyone will lose when an organization has rigged the game for its own benefit.

Now I really needed off Coruscant. And fast.


	3. Taris

So a crate. Filled with those little spongy peanuts and what was supposed to be a shipment of illicit vids of dubious women committing dubious acts. It was the perfect size for a grown man and a five year old kid.

The cargo was being shipped to a planet called Taris. Now, at the time I thought Taris'd be a good idea since the people of Taris liked to think their planet was a smaller Coruscant. And you know me, I loved Coruscant. It was just a shame now with my shady girlfriend being dead and a crime syndicate wanting my baby sister that I had to leave.

It was also a shame that given the circumstances, I couldn't even afford coach tickets. Hence the crate. You know how feisty a five year old can get? Imagine that bundle of energy stuck on your lap with no room to run and scream. Yeah. I had to use the money I had stashed for food to buy drugs to sedate the kid so we wouldn't get caught in transit.

That was freaky. The drugs. I think I gave her a little too much for the first dose. Nerves, you know? She just flopped limp all over me for a good couple of hours or so. Halfway into it, I convinced myself that Mission was dead and nearly blew our cover for the sake of a panic attack.

So I just sat there. There wasn't anything else I could do. My back was pressed against one side of the box, my knees against the other. Mission was wedged and unmoving somewhere between my thighs and chest. Her skin was so clammy and her breath so faint and all I could do was try to rock her back and forth and tell her she was going to be fine even when I had no idea if I was lying or not.

She came around eventually, thank frack. She pushed her hands out against my face and when she found out there wasn't enough room to stretch, she began to cry. So I did the only thing I could in that situation; I gave her another dose to quiet her.

Once we landed on planet, it was pretty easy goings getting out of the crate and getting to a cantina, all things considered. I was a little sore; both from spending all that time in a crate and by the realization that Taris was absolutely nothing like Coruscant. Taris reminded me of those designer imposter colognes that claimed to be just like the real deal, but then you pop the cap and it smells like dead grandmother.

These people had obviously never heard about the kindness of strangers. I had a five year old kid in my arms whose head was bobbing lifelessly! Not that I'd intentionally shirk someone, mind you, but come on! That was a perfect setup.

Of course, no sooner did I step foot inside that cantina then I was hoisted out of it. Upper City can kiss my blue ass.

Lower City, now that was nicer. That was the place to be. Now granted, the first thing I had to do when I got out of the elevator shaft was step over a body; I wasn't sure if it was dead or just dead drunk, but you know, it was still a body in the middle of the walkway. Lower City wasn't the cleanest place to be, it certainly wasn't the classiest, but it was going to be home for the next five years or so.

The cantina in Lower City was more hospitable. I found some dancers on their breaks, ones with big, wide eyes and even bigger… hearts. These ladies cooed and fawned as I explained that my dear sister was inexplicably sick.

…What? You think I'd get any stitch of help if I said, "Heya! I pumped my kid sister full of drugs and now she won't wake up"? I was doing it for Mission.

In the blink of an eye, these women wrenched Mission out of my arms and into theirs. I was hit with a momentary sense of panic in that I just escaped handing her over to a crime lord only to have her stolen by some twinks in gold pasties and body glitter. Don't get me wrong, I'd much rather be at the mercy of fake breasts demanding that cred chips be placed into their fluorescent g-strings, but it was the general principle.

And even faster than I was hurled from the Upper City cantina, I was introduced to a man named Gadon Thek. So now I'm forever indebted to body glitter dusted over scant body parts. It could be worse.

Gadon still had his eyes back then. And he had Zaerdra. She greeted me with a fierce right hook to the jaw. Apparently Zaerdra had an eye for the characteristic signs of sedatives in a child and was grossly opposed to it. I quickly crossed out older women along with humans from the list of Griff P. Vao's potential dating pool.

It was made very clear that Gadon was in charge and that you just don't piss off Gadon Thek. Not that he would ever do anything to you; why do things yourself when you have a psycho Twi'lek bruiser of a babe to do it for you? Trust me, I like to push my luck as far as it'll take me, but I also understand the value of having my nose in the dead center of my face and not twisted violently to the left like some abstract painting.

But on the upside, it was also made evident that the guy had a soft spot for stragglers and would give out handouts if you could remember where your loyalties were. So as long as I pocketed the coins of random sentients that didn't belong to the Hidden Beks and stopped making fun of Gadon's favorite straggler, Brejik, and his poor choices in both clothing and women, I could show up and get a free meal every now and again.

They took to Mission immediately. Zaerdra regarded her with that sort of annoyance that anyone with half a brain could see was feebly set up posturing. The moment anyone thought to harass that mouthy seven year old, Zaerdra was there with twin blades or even just a wrench and a sock filled with rocks, whatever it took. Man, I can't explain it, but it was both horrifying and though I'm ashamed to admit, strangely arousing to see that crazy, milky-white bitch get creative on some poor sucker. So long as that sucker was not myself, mind you.

It was an easy, symbiotic relationship. I'd back Gadon and the Beks on all fronts and occassionally, if I had some extra cash flow, would slip a few credits their way. In return, they supplied a place to sleep when I needed it, helped keep track of Mission and kept us fed. And the best part? Zaerdra and the rest of those blaster-wielding crazies were on my side. It was nice to feel safe for a change.

And watching Mission grow? That was something else. It's kind of weird. It would've been so easy for a scrawny little kid like that to just fall through the cracks, but the girl was a natural. So much so I'd like to claim it was a genetic trait. Vaos don't have a lot of people around to brag about how awesome we are, so we have to have the jewels to boast about it ourselves. You'd be surprised how much a body can get away with when they're confident enough to just do it.

I mean, she was eight when she first overrode the controls of a security console. It took me at least until I was ten for that kind of stunt. Granted, I didn't have a stunning older brother to help me out along the way, but still, it was impressive.

Zaerdra was equally impressed when she beat me into a pulp over it. She was upset because I used the Beks' security system to train Mission, but I figured it was a good way to get the kid's feet wet. Syndicates like the Exchange didn't have much of a problem with spewing the insides of an eight year old's skull out all over the duracrete ground, so I didn't want to toss her into that without being positive of what she was capable of.

That didn't make that particular beating any less rough.

But that was just how it was. A constant argument of whether Mission was too young or not. She wasn't too young to sell to a Hutt, I'll tell you that much. And if she wasn't too young for that, I figured she wasn't too young to learn some useful tricks to ensure that didn't happen. That was one thing that Zaerdra and I could agree on. Unfortunately, where my tactics leaned more towards being discreet and overlooked, Zaerdra's slant was more carry many disposable and untraceable weapons with the knowledge of exactly where to strike.

Mission didn't seem to mind either way. She just wanted people to stop calling her Mishmash.

What I wanted was for a way back to my former glory. I mean, Jart Vao had been loaded. There's that whole money can't buy you happiness and blah, blah, blah, but that's just rich people whining. Let them stare at a blackening gash in their foot and try to decide whether it'll heal on its own or if it's really worth the cost of a doctor's visit without insurance.

I try to imagine it sometimes, me with money. The first thing I'd probably do would be to buy a solid gold bathtub big enough to fit me and at least three others. Indulgent and slightly overshooting my sex appeal? Yes. But it would be incredible.

It wasn't like I was getting any younger. And with each passing year, Mission's face would thin out and she wasn't exactly a cute, helpless thing anymore. More like a damn frustrating brat on more than one occasion. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to explain why sentients are less likely to take pity on and give free credits to a ten year old that's smoking cigarras? I mean, really!

I made the mistake of letting it slip that the only reason Mission thought she was untouchable hot shit was because Zaerdra was constantly hovering behind her to make sure she didn't get in over her head. That had the opposite effect intended and from that day forward Mission behaved even ballsier than before.

So much for that. I think the final kicker was when some of the new girls at the cantina thought I was her father. That stung.

I needed a way off the damn planet. And I don't mean a way that involved crates and packing peanuts. I wanted a way off that had style. That showed I was climbing up, not spiraling down. I needed a sign.

That sign came in pale yellow cream. Man, she was pretty. Eyelids encrusted with purple glitz, her lekku said one thing while her mouth said another. And when she smiled that little half-smile, the one that told me she was really smiling but trying like frack to be coy, it was on. She said her name was Lena and I knew then that I had my ticket out.


	4. Lena

God damn women. I'm telling you, I really should learn, right? No such luck. Lena was great. At first, that is. I think that her problem was that after I took all the time to scrape away at that banthashit exterior, ultimately, she was hardwired for those 2.5 pups and one of those fenced-in Bespin apartments.

You can understand how that mindset is destined to screw someone like me over.

I'd laughed at her. It's little things like that that'll take a person off guard. Poor babe was probably used to every core slime in the establishment trying to schmooze her into the sack, so I think the fact that my eyes didn't lodge themselves in her cleavage instantly put me in safe territory. Either that or anyone after Brejik was appealing.

I told her I was glad because at first I'd thought she might have been Zaerdra and Zaerdra was out to pummel me. It was sort of true; Zaerdra wasn't out to pummel me at that exact moment, but I'm sure with time Zaerdra would always come up with a reason to pummel me. I told Lena how relieved I was and how she needed to be a knight in shining Jedi robes and protect me. After that, she was the one laughing and I was golden.

I would have done anything for her. She wasn't the type that vanished when I was broke, she showed up with lunch. She wasn't like the other dames that would coo about how amazing it was that I was stuck raising a kid sister then storm off when Mission asked if their breasts were real. Then again, Lena's were, so maybe that had something to do with it.

Mission hated her guts.

You'd think with someone sincerely interested and concerned about her, Mission would warm up. Of course not. After some of the… phrases we'll call them, fell out of Mission's mouth, Lena uttered a quick, "excuse me" and then we didn't see her again for another six days. I don't have any clue where Mission had picked up that kind of language. It must have been Brejik, because I know I wouldn't freaking teach an eleven year old to talk like that.

And that was just it: she was eleven. Only eleven. If I was having trouble with her at eleven, how would twelve be or even thirteen? That was a cold splash of fear that I didn't want to deal with.

It didn't help that Lena would take her side. Sides! Like we were waging a war or something! And it was always my fault and it was always a trap. Lena would come up to me like we were going to just talk and then she'd open her mouth and I swear, she'd think it was legitimate Basic, but really, it was just insanity that she seemed to be fluent in.

As garbled madness spewed out of those glossy lips, there wasn't much that I could do about it. Do you nod sympathetically until she finished? Because that automatically meant you agreed with her, not that you were trying to be polite (or at the very least, hoping for a pause where she breathed so you could hop in with your point of view.) If I just shook my head and told her to come talk to me when she was done being a psycho, then I wouldn't have been listening to her, so anything contradictory I might have said would have been discounted since I couldn't listen to her original arguments.

The only viable option I could think of was to bang my head against the wall. Then she scolded me about property damage and losing the security deposit with my behavior.

Sure, I could have been nicer and more understanding. I could have been a lot of things. Like a go-go dancer. But let's be realistic here.

Mission was my problem. An unemployed mouth to feed. And believe me, for a little thing, she could eat a lot.

It had been easier when she was younger. She had a smaller appetite, took naps and didn't sass back quite so much. There were gaggles of women that loved to look after her because of those chubby cheeks, stubby lekku and the darnedest things she'd say. Now I was being buried under complaints of just what those darnedest things were. She was a rude, little snot that would flip people the bird and then take their wallets.

When I tried to talk to her about it, she just flipped me the bird and tried to take my wallet.

So I sent her for a walk. A long walk. Mission disappeared for the rest of the day. I fumed and took most of it out on Lena. Bless her, she just stood and let me rant like an idiot. I mean, she tried to tell me it was because I was worried about Mission and it was probably best not to correct her, but still. There was concern in Lena's eyes and fishnets on beneath that miniskirt.

Mission finally showed up again late that night. She refused to tell me where she'd been, but then she got all teary-eyed and apologized. I couldn't see for what. She was still alive and as far as I could tell no one was dead because of her, so she was pretty even in my book.

Things were weird after that. Whenever Lena stopped by, Mission'd shoot her these icy dagger eyes and when she left, Mission'd flop all over me like she was trying to be this cute five year old again. Really freaky. I called her on it once and that set off a leg-kicking, fist-pounding tantrum that would've put Mission's five year old self to shame.

I'm not cut out to a parent, alright? Legitimate or otherwise. It's pretty obvious I can barely take care of myself half the time, I'm more shocked that Mission's still breathing because I stuck with her than because I ditched out on her.

There, I said it. I ditched out on her. Happy? I bailed on a twelve year old kid. I was in over my head and Davik Kang reportedly had an offer that I couldn't refuse. Kang probably had a valid point; with a Mandie merc cramming a repeating blaster down my neck, I'm sure I wouldn't be able to refuse anything, but that's why it was of the utmost importance that I was far, far away from Taris and by default, unable to agree to anything as well.

Lena, being the doll that she is, said she'd cover the tickets off world, but for some strange reason wouldn't just fork over the cash to me. She insisted on walking to the ticket booth with me and buying them herself. She went so far as to keep the tickets in her possession up until we both stepped onboard the shuttle.

That was one frosty flight. She was furious that Mission was a no show and we were leaving without her. This was also inexplicably my fault.

So I told Mission that Lena thought she was cramping our style? What was I supposed to tell her? She had Gadon Thek looking out for her. She had Zaerdra looking out for her. She had the entire freaking Hidden Beks looking out for her. What was I?

Stop looking at me like that; I could've sold her to a Hutt. It can always get that much worse.

I meant to come back to Taris one day. When I was established and didn't have to worry where my next meal was coming from. All I had to do was get off planet, invest a little of Lena's money here, spend a little there, impress the right person…

You can see where this one's going, can't you?

I don't think any of my ideas were ever inherently bad. Lena always said that a "happy hat" would've been a great product if it weren't completely implausible. Or a waffle iron that's also a clothes iron. And don't even get me started on the brassiere with the pump up cups.

Maybe I just couldn't find the right markets for them.

By that time, Lena was juggling two jobs and about ready to throttle me. One thing after another had fallen to pieces and I was unofficially unemployed for about anywhere from three weeks to two months depending on who you asked. I finally caught wind of this deal going down in Tatooine and decided that was my big chance.

Lena disagreed. She said we didn't have the money for another planet hop. She said I needed to focus on actually getting and holding a job for a minimum of six months standard. She said if I was going to insist on being a waste of time then I should at least have the decency to only waste my own and not hers.

So I said a few things back, myself. Maybe that was my mistake. Lena was a good person deep down, just different than me on that fundamental level. When she started to cry all angry like and told me to get out, I went up and hugged her. I said that I was a screw up and said that I wanted to make it right only to have her shove me away.

Not before I had the chance to pocket her wallet, however.

Lena hadn't been kidding; she didn't have enough credits to skip town. Much to my dismay, I had to pull a few favors at the local cantina to make up for the remainder of the ticket price. And quickly, since I had the feeling that Lena'd be showing up soon to take back what was rightfully hers.

She never did. Maybe it was a pride or disgust thing, maybe that instinct in my gut that seemed to keep me among the living for reasons unknown let me stay one step ahead of her, who knows. All I knew was that I was headed to the planet with these gibbery little creatures called Jawas and two suns. I packed a pair of sandals and some tanning oil just in case.


	5. Tatooine

For a planet hot enough to leave deep cracks in the scorched soil around the landing port, you'd think Tatooine would have had at least one beach on it, right? Or at the very-very least, a huge market for above ground pools.

That was a strange thing to get used to. I arrived sweating in just a simple pair of pants and shirt, so I tried the less clothing route and was rewarded with the worst sunburn of my life. All the desert folk had the fashion of wearing long, billowy robes. I found out later it was because the material guarded their skin from the sun and if a body doesn't overexert themselves beneath all those robes, their body temperature's actually lower than the outdoors.

Even with the artificial cooling systems provided for the buildings, the planet was a bust. Anchorhead wasn't so much a town as it was a dingy little industrial hut. It had one pathetic and dilapidated cantina with a bunch of rough and tumble types without the draw of an attractive dancer or two.

I was one sad little rutian.

The only thing to do on Tatooine was work. I suppose, given the circumstances that allowed me to arrive in Anchorhead in the first place, having nothing but a mining job to keep me warm (or rather snug next to a cooling unit as the case was) at night was some degree of karmic payback.

There'd been news reports of Taris being bombed back into pre-civilization and without the dancer trash to tango with, I'd been talking up the Exchange in Anchorhead. Not the smartest thing, I know, but I was lonely and had convinced myself that talking was only talking and it was a bit different than actually committing to anything. I should have been thankful that I'd gotten myself off of Taris before Malak felt compelled to test out his laser cannons on it. Maybe I should've looked at the lists of the planet-wide dead, but I couldn't bring myself to. Mission only came up on really bleak nights at the cantina when I was short on cash and the gin was expensive.

I wish I could say that something good happened. No one ever wants to hear the end of a story that began with, "well, I struck a deal with an Exchange thug one night while drunk." Instead, maybe I was able to crawl my way up the corporate ladder and get some cushy supervising job in the mines or that I met an attractive woman that wasn't as deceitful as myself. While we're fantasizing, let's tack on that she's rich and drop-dead gorgeous, too with a rack stretching out into forever.

…No?

Sand people. Tusken raiders. If you don't know who these people are, then you're a speck better off than I am. Now, this is just hearsay, but I wouldn't be surprised if my boss, Greeta, put them up to it because he was sore over me falling asleep on the job a handful of times.

I can't explain what happened, not really. That's just the way the sand people are. Masked and robed and screeching and barking in that language that no one understands. That's all I heard and then there was a sharp pain in the back of my head and for a second, I really thought I was going to die before the nothing hit.

It's scary. Not the prospect of dying. I mean, I'd always thought I'd pee myself if I realized I was going to cack it, but it's amazing how your brain can just shut down with a simple acceptance. What's scary is the not knowing. To wake up in some strange room whose walls are covered in skins that you can't recognize. They might've been dewback skins. I told myself they were dewback skins and not anything like human or Zabrak. They certainly weren't colorful enough to be Twi'lek at least.

There was nothing to do but wait. It never even occurred to me to see if the door was open. I tried to measure the passage of time by how much I had to go the bathroom.

By the time the door slid open, I was pacing more to keep from relieving myself than because of nerves. I nearly fell over when I saw the mismatched group that was about to free me.

Dressed from the neck down in Tusken robes, there was a scruffy-looking human with a beard, another human who came up to my shoulders and was the owner of a very foul mouth and even a Wookiee. But it was the Twi'lek that accompanied them that got my attention. A mouthy, blue Twi'lek with an upturned nose.

Sis had grown herself a pair of boobs since I'd last seen her.

If I said she was happy to see me, I'd be lying. I guess she had a point. The planet I'd left her safe and sound on had been blasted into dust. But really, how was I supposed to see that one coming? Mission kicked me hard enough to split my shin and refused to talk to me shortly after our heartwarming reunion.

I know, I know, I get it. I shouldn't have left her on Taris. Can we move on, please?

Mishmash had struck it big. Financially, I mean. I don't know what it is about that kid, but she attracts the right kind of people like a cute, snot-nosed magnet. She was hanging with Jedi now and a Republic pilot. The kicker was that they seemed to absolutely adore her, too.

She didn't look hungry and the armored plate she had on beneath her vest looked like top quality. Both the Mandalorian merc and enormous Wookiee at her back also looked more than capable and more than willing to knock the head-tails right off of me. If the Jedi were in the mood to adopt wayward Twi'leks, I was very happy to oblige them.

As it turns out, whatever charm Mission had used to schmooze the Jedi was not in fact hereditary. The short one that seemed to be in charge spat at my feet and threatened to commit horrible acts upon my person for attempting to cash in on their generosity. You know that human woman turned out to be an amnesiac Revan? I would've thought Revan would've been bigger, myself. More bulky and muscular.

It was the pilot who saved me. A Mister Carth Onasi. He had a certain soft spot for degenerates for some reason, or at least was opposed to coating the ground with the blood of degenerates. He wouldn't let Revan hurt me and I very vocally seconded his opinion.

I could see the man wasn't very fond of me, but Mission had already wormed her way into his heart, so I played on that. It didn't matter that I was a piece of core slime, I was Mission's big brother. And what kind of friends would they be if they left the brother of another friend to the mercy of Exchange thugs? Frugal ones, probably, but this Onasi guy, he knew guilt.

That was one thing that I always made sure to hone in and seek out. There's nothing more erosive in the entire galaxy than guilt and everyone can bank in on it if they're smart enough to allow the other individual to vicariously relieve some of that guilt through you. Onasi didn't look Tarisian, so I strung together a story too longwinded to follow about how I could use a tach gland to brew some Tarisian ale that was sure to be in demand now that the planet and everything found on it was in shambles.

It seemed prudent on my part to leave out the information I had about tachs being poached because their glands were valued as an aphrodisiac by several alien species. The gentleman from the Exchange hadn't specified any reason why he'd wanted the tach gland, just that he wanted it and if I couldn't provide it, he was going to take his advance payment back out of my hide.

After some bickering, Revan agreed to help me out. A one time deal and if I tried for any more, I'd leave with a pair of broken kneecaps. The deal was fair enough, so I buried them with thanks before they headed out and then went about strategically avoiding the Exchange for the next few weeks.

They actually came through for me. I didn't think they would. Maybe that Onasi guy was really a sucker, maybe Mission had something to do with it. I like to think Mission had something to do with it, because that feels better than just duping another mark again.

Mission didn't show up when they gave me the tach gland. It was just the Mandalorian; I still have no idea why they decided to send him, probably just to scare the living daylights out of me. At least, I hope that's what it was, because it certainly worked. As he walked away, I was hit by an odd feeling in my gut.

Mission didn't need me anymore, not that she ever did really. I knew I wasn't ever going to see her again. Not in person.

I felt lighter.

She helped save the galaxy, you know. I can be proud of that. The strongest, bravest thing I've ever done is probably lift a kitten up to a tabletop so it could get to a plate of eggs and sausage. Mission grew up good.

Now me? I'm still doing what I've always done. As soon as I handed that tach gland over I was off planet before the payment had a moment to settle in my bank account.

But we're friends now, right? And the galaxy's a big place and there are plenty of opportunities for someone like me. So if you'll untie me, I'd appreciate it a lot. Seriously, the rope is starting to chafe at my wrists. You know who my sister is, right? I just told you.

Please?


End file.
